A Life For A Life
by dawn341
Summary: Third season story. Duncan and Richie get embroiled with a rogue Watcher who wants to exchange one mortal life for one Immortal life.


A Life For A Life by Dawn Cunningham

Disclaimers:

Duncan, Richie, and Joe belong to Rysher. I'm just borrowing them and not getting paid for it.

Do not post or publish this story anywhere else, without my express permission. Feel free to share it with others as long as the disclaimers remain intact.

I wrote this story many years ago.

* HL * HL * HL * HL * HL * HL

A Life For A Life by Dawn Cunningham

The Immortal's first hint of trouble came with the blossoming of pain in his chest. Looking down, he saw a red stain growing across his shirt front. He managed a few steps before collapsing to the ground.

He took a deep rasping breath as he came back to life. Blindfolded, he couldn't tell where he was. It didn't take long to figure out he was chained in a spread-eagled position and that there were other people in the room.

The pain started again as he felt a knife run along his skin. They kept escalating the torture-first it was just long deep cuts, then they plunged the knife deep inside of him, twisting and turning it ruthlessly. He managed to hold back his screams, but that only led to the next level. They left him alone for a few moments before returning. This time he did scream as he felt red-hot metal being pressed against his stomach. The room seemed to echo from his cries.

He had no idea what they were after-they just seem interested in causing him pain. After an undetermined amount of time that seemed like an eternity, they left him alone.

He had no strength left and hung limply in his chains. When he felt the cool touch of a sword on his neck, he knew he was about to die-for good this time.

* HL * HL *

Earlier that day:

Roger Mason looked up from his paperwork when a muted buzz interrupted his concentration. He gave an annoyed glance at his Rolex before picking up the phone. "Yes?"

"Mr. Perkins is here for his 9:00 appointment, sir," his secretary, Debra Hatcher, informed him.

"Very well, Miss Hatcher. Send him in, please."

"Yes, sir."

Roger hung up the phone, and leaned back in his chair, surveying his office with a sense of pride and pleasure. From the plush carpets to the original paintings by Rembrandt and Monet, the room screamed money and power. Those two things were the motivation behind everything he did.

The door across the room opened, and a young man entered. He quickly crossed the office and handed a folder to the older man sitting behind the desk. The trefoil tattoos on the two men's wrists matched. "Here's the information you requested, sir."

Roger opened the folder and started spreading the contents across the desk. "Fill me in," he ordered.

Jimmy Perkins pointed to the first set of pictures. "That's Duncan MacLeod. 400 years old. Tessa Noel was his lover for twelve years before she died in a street mugging about a year ago. He has no steady love interest right now. Currently, he owns a dojo and lives in a loft above it." He moved to the next set of pictures. "That's Richie Ryan. He died for the first time in the same street mugging that killed Noel. He's 20 now. He lives in a small apartment on the east side."

"I'm familiar with MacLeod," Roger stated. "Tell me more about Ryan. How did he meet up with MacLeod?"

"Ryan tried to break into the antique store that MacLeod owned. The next thing we knew, he was living there. There was a lot of speculation about him being a pre-Immortal at the time. He had quite a rap sheet as a teenager, but nothing major. When he became Immortal, MacLeod trained him. He's only taken one head so far. He left for a while, but they met up again in Paris. Right now, he's managing the dojo."

"Is there anyone else who's close to MacLeod or Ryan?"

"Not really-at least here in Seacouver. MacLeod has many known Immortal friends, but doesn't see any of them on a regular basis. The only mortal he saw regularly was Charlie DeSalvo, but he's recently left the country. Ryan still sees some of his friends from before he became Immortal, but he doesn't appear to be close to any of them."

"Hmmmm. You did a good job, Perkins. Thank you." With a wave of his hand, Roger dismissed the young man. Once the door had closed behind him, Roger picked up the phone and buzzed his secretary. When she answered, he asked her to contact Tom Michaels.

Thirty minutes later, Roger watched as Michaels crossed his office. This man oozed confidence and danger-he wasn't a man who should be crossed. Michaels was just the person for the job. Besides, they'd done this before.

Roger wasted no time. He picked up one of the pictures on the table and handed it to Michaels. "This is the one. You know what to do. Just make sure there are no witnesses."

"Yes, sir."

* HL * HL *

He almost stumbled across the package sitting outside the dojo doors when he returned from lunch. He picked it up and carried it across the floor to the office, examining it carefully as he went. No return address, no postage, just his name written on the brown paper. He ripped it off and opened the box he found. It contained a video tape and a piece of paper. He unfolded the paper and read the cryptic message.

'Watch as soon as possible, then call 555-1223'

Frowning, he decided to follow instructions and headed for the loft. It didn't take long to warm up the TV and VCR hidden behind cabinet doors. The gruesome images on the tape kept him spellbound despite the fact that his stomach was churning. He couldn't force himself to reach out and shut off either machine.

For almost an hour, he stood there transfixed as the torture continued. He listened to the screams that finally erupted from the Immortal's mouth. The final image of a sword being held to his friend's neck before the screen went dark sent him stumbling to the bathroom.

Having emptied his stomach, he returned to the living area on shaky limbs. Taking the piece of paper, he went to the phone and dialed the number. After an eternity, the phone was answered.

Cold anger filled his voice as he said, "This is Richie Ryan. If you've killed Duncan MacLeod, I'll hunt you down-no matter how long it takes."

"Just be quiet, Ryan, and listen. We haven't taken your friend's head-*yet*. It's up to you if he lives or dies. All you have to do is follow a few simple instructions, and, if you do, your friend will be returned in one piece. Failure on your part will result in MacLeod's death. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Richie ground out between clenched teeth. "How do I know you haven't killed him already-or that you won't the minute I do what you want?"

"I'll provide proof that he's still alive before you do anything. As to after the fact, he has no idea who I am-there wouldn't be any profit in it for me. That's all I can offer you. You're just going to have to trust me-which I know will be difficult for someone like you."

Richie fought the urge to slam the phone into the wall. "What do you want me to do?"

"Tonight, one of Tessa Noel's sculptures is being donated to the Seacouver museum. I want you to attend the ceremony."

"I was going to do that anyway," Richie replied. "You didn't need to kidnap and torture Mac for that."

"There's more to it than that. First, you will have to be very convincing when you explain why MacLeod won't be there. You can tell everyone he was suddenly called out of town. I assume you have a tuxedo rented already?"

The man's patronizing tones were really beginning to grate on Richie's nerves. "Yes, I have a tux." He glanced over to where it was hanging on the open door of Duncan's armoire. Knowing how difficult this would be for both of them, they had decided to eat together at the loft before getting dressed. Duncan had gone with him to pick up the tuxedo yesterday, and brought it back here so Richie wouldn't have to worry about bringing it over on his bike.

"Good. Now then, once you get to the museum, you will have one other thing you will need to do."

"What's that?" Richie asked.

"You need to kill someone."

"What?" Richie practically screamed. "Are you nuts?"

"No, I'm quite sane. After all, it won't be the first person you've killed. And probably not the last, so don't get so indignant. Just think of it as a life for a life."

Richie didn't know how to respond to that one. He *had* killed someone-but that had been another Immortal. He'd been so angry and upset when Mako had run down Laura, he hadn't taken the time to think about what he was doing. But this would be different.

"And if I don't do your dirty work? What then?" Richie asked, although he was sure he knew the answer.

"Then your next package will contain Duncan MacLeod's head."

Richie took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. He owed Duncan everything. "Who do you want me to kill?"

"I knew you'd see reason," the voice gloated. "A package will arrive by 5:00 with a gun and all the information you need, including pictures of the person you are to kill. An hour later, a limousine will be there to pick you up and take you to the museum. By the way, the limo is a rental-the driver knows nothing about this. You will receive a call on the cell phone you'll find on the back seat of the limo. That will be your proof that your friend is still alive. Once at the museum, take the first opportunity you can to kill your target. If possible, you can try to escape, but my suggestion is to let yourself be killed. After all, you'll wake back up again. You can start a new life somewhere else."

"When will Duncan be released?" Richie asked when the man paused. "And how will you know whether I've killed the guy or not?"

"I will have several of my people at the party. Once they see you pull the trigger, they will contact me and Duncan will be released. If you fail to follow through, they will also contact me. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Richie replied. "I understand."

"Good. One more thing. Under no circumstances are you to leave the dojo until the limousine arrives to pick you up. Close the place up-I don't want you talking to anyone. And I don't suggest you contact the police for help-somehow, I doubt they'd believe you anyway."

Richie doubted it, too. "All right," he agreed.

"Good. Just remember-we'll be watching. If anything goes wrong, you'll need to find a new friend."

The sound of the phone being hung up reached Richie's ears and he slammed his receiver back into the wall unit.

What was he going to do?

No matter what he did, his friendship with Duncan would be over. The Highlander would be furious with Richie for killing a mortal-even to save his own life. But the alternative was much worse. He couldn't let them take his friend's head.

* HL * HL *

It was the longest afternoon Richie had ever spent. He lost track of how many times he'd paced up and down the length of the dojo. He finally turned to the punching bag, pounding his fists into the leather over and over again. It didn't help.

At exactly 5:00, Richie heard a loud banging on the outer door of the dojo. He found a box sitting outside on the stairs, but no one else was in sight. He brought the package into the dojo office and opened it. As promised, a gun with a shoulder holster was at the very top. He inspected it carefully and found it was fully loaded. Underneath the gun was a manila folder filled with pictures of a middle-aged man. With his receding hairline and glasses, he didn't look very threatening. A piece of paper at the bottom gave him a name. Winston Evers.

The name sounded familiar and Richie racked his brain trying to remember where he'd heard it before. It took awhile, but he finally figured it out. He and Duncan had been watching the news several nights ago while their dinner was cooking. Evers was a very wealthy man and ran a large construction business. The news report had talked about how his company was bidding on the new super-mall. Whoever won that contract would make a very nice profit.

Richie figured that had to be the reason they wanted him dead. It must be a rival company who figured they would get the contract if Evers was out of the way.

With a sigh, he picked up the box and went up to the loft to start getting ready. Richie didn't bother with dinner, he knew he'd never be able to keep any food down anyway-his stomach felt like it was full of butterflies. He managed the cummerbund just fine, but struggled with the bow tie, wishing Duncan were there to help him get it right. Finally deciding it was good enough, he put on the shoulder holster, then slipped into his jacket.

Richie critically studied himself in the mirror, turning one way, then another to be sure the gun wasn't showing. He shifted it around a little bit before deciding it would have to do. A glance at the clock sent him hurrying toward the elevator. He didn't want to be late.

* HL * HL *

As promised, the limousine was waiting outside for him. The chauffeur came around and opened the back door for him and Richie climbed inside. A cell phone lay on the seat and the young Immortal clutched at it nervously. They were halfway to the museum before the phone finally rang and Richie almost dropped it in surprise.

"Hello," he said, hesitantly. "This is Ryan," he added.

"So far, so good, Mr. Ryan. I'm glad you've been following instructions. Now then, here's someone who wants to talk to you."

A brief noise came across the line, then he heard a familiar voice. "Richie?"

"Mac? Are you all right?" Richie burst out, a feeling of relief flooding through him.

"Don't do it, Richie," Duncan replied quickly followed by a grunting sound.

The original voice came back. "I'd ignore that last comment if I were you. Just do your job and your friend will be home soon."

"You'd better keep your promise," Richie warned him. "Otherwise, I'll track you down. No matter how long it takes."

A deep laugh echoed over the phone. "You can try, boy. You can try. Not that it matters. You keep your end and I'll keep mine." The line went dead.

With a start, Richie realized they had pulled up to the museum. After the chauffeur came around and opened his door, he climbed out of the car. He paused for a moment, and nervously smoothed down his jacket before climbing the stairs to the entrance. He handed his invitation to the attendant inside, before moving into the main foyer of the museum.

Richie glanced around the large room. At the center was the covered statue that Tessa had made. Later in the evening, he and Duncan were supposed to unveil it. He doubted he would get the chance now. There were already quite a few people milling around, many with champagne glasses in hand.

"Richie! There you are!" A woman in her forties rushed over to his side and kissed the air near his cheek. The young Immortal knew her-Susan Sheffeld-the organizer of the event. "Where is Duncan?"

"Ummm... he couldn't make it," Richie replied. "A sudden family emergency. You'll have to make do with just me."

"Oh, that's too bad... about Duncan, I mean," Susan replied. "You'll do just fine. For now, you can just mingle. I'll find you when it's time for the unveiling." Without another word, she rushed off again.

With a sigh, Richie moved further into the room. He stopped a waiter and grabbed a glass of champagne. One good thing about this kind of event-no one would be asking to see his I.D. Right now, he needed all the courage he could get, even if it came out of a bottle.

He'd only been there about ten minutes when he saw his target come through the door. Richie's mouth went dry and his hands started to sweat. Realizing that he had to do this quickly before he lost his nerve, the young Immortal started over to Evers.

There was quite a crowd of people around the man when Richie got close enough. He hung around the edge, patiently waiting for it to thin out. The last thing he wanted to do was to shoot the wrong person. Almost as if he read his thoughts, Evers excused himself and headed toward Richie. For a moment they stared directly at each other.

This was it. There was no one in the way. It was just him and Evers. All Richie had to do was pull out the gun and fire it. At this close range, he couldn't miss. Taking a deep breath, Richie reached into his jacket and pulled out the gun. It felt like he was moving through quicksand as he brought the weapon up and pulled the trigger, then pulled it again and again. Evers jolted back as each bullet hit home, then collapsed backwards and crashed to the floor.

Richie dimly heard screams erupt around him. He could only stare at the body lying on the floor in front of him. He'd done it. He'd actually pulled the trigger.

With a shudder, Richie pulled himself together and ran towards the back door of the museum. No one tried to stop him and he was soon outside, running through the darkness of the night. He headed back to the dojo. For now, all he could do was wait and see if Duncan was released.

It took Richie a long time to make his way back across town to the dojo. He had to stick to alleys and deserted streets-his tuxedo would have drawn too much attention elsewhere. Likewise, he had to avoid the police cars that seemed to be out in force.

The young Immortal gave a deep sigh of relief when he came around the last corner and saw the lights shining brightly from the dojo's windows. Hopefully, that meant Duncan had been freed. Richie picked up his pace, practically running the last few yards. He felt the buzz of another Immortal as he pelted up the outside stairs. He burst through the door into the dojo, then slid to a stop as he spotted the other Immortal.

A moment later, a broad grin broke out on Richie's face and he headed across the dojo floor. "Mac! You're all right! They let you go!"

* HL * HL *

Earlier that day:

Duncan was sure that the mortals who had captured him were about to kill him when they placed a sword to his neck. Instead, they removed it and left him hanging there. A few moments later, he felt something at his right wrist, then his hand was free. Another touch on his left wrist and the other hand was free. With no support, Duncan crashed to the floor, his ankles still spread wide and secured.

He struggled wildly as two men pounced on him, pulling his arms behind his back. Still weak and in pain from the unhealed wounds caused by the torture, he was no match for the men. The distinctive sound of handcuffs being clicked shut preceded the snug feel of metal around his wrists. The men let him go and, a moment later, he felt his feet being released. The hands returned and dragged him to his feet. They half-carried him several steps, then released him with a small push.

Duncan felt himself falling again, and prepared himself for a painful landing. Instead, he fell onto a bed or a cot-he couldn't tell which. His feet were tied together and then he was left alone. He waited while his body finished healing before he tried to remove the blindfold. The Immortal rubbed his face against the mattress, over and over, trying to dislodge the blindfold.

"I wouldn't do that," a voice interrupted his efforts. "If you see us, we'll have no choice except to take your head."

"You're going to take it anyway," Duncan replied.

"No, I have no need for your Quickening. As long as you can't identify us, and your friend does as he's told, then you'll be released."

"My friend?" Duncan asked, totally confused. Who was he talking about. "What do you mean?"

"I suppose it won't hurt for you to know what is going to happen," the man replied. "Your little torture session this morning was videotaped so we could show your friend Ryan that we were serious. He seemed quite upset over the thought of you losing your head."

"Leave Richie out of this!" Duncan protested, struggling futilely.

The man laughed. "That's going to be a bit difficult. You see, he's going to do something for me. In exchange, he gets you back with your head still firmly attached."

A sense of dread filled Duncan. "I don't understand. What do you need Richie to do?"

"He's going to kill someone for me."

For a moment, Duncan couldn't reply. "He won't do it," he finally insisted. "I know Richie."

"We shall see. So far he seems to be cooperating. I suggest you do the same."

It sounded as if the man was walking away and, a moment later, Duncan heard a door closing nearby. He knew he'd been left alone. He no longer tried to remove the blindfold. Instead, he worried about Richie.

* HL * HL *

Duncan had no idea how much time had passed when he heard the door open again. Hands grabbed his arms and pulled him to a sitting position.

"Listen carefully. In a moment, I'm going to let you talk to Ryan. He wants proof that you are still alive. Don't do anything stupid."

He heard some beeping noises that he thought was a phone being dialed followed by a pause.

"So far, so good, Mr. Ryan. I'm glad you've been following instructions. Now then, here's someone who wants to talk to you."

Something was pressed up against his ear and he was nudged on the shoulder. "Richie?" he asked.

"Mac? Are you all right?" Richie's voice came across the line.

"Don't do it, Richie," Duncan replied quickly. A sharp blow to the stomach caused him to double over in pain. He dimly listened to the rest of the man's conversation.

"I'd ignore that last comment if I were you. Just do your job and your friend will be home soon." A pause, then the man laughed. "You can try, boy. You can try. Not that it matters. You keep your end and I'll keep mine."

Duncan was yanked to his feet. He struggled to keep his balance with his feet still tied together.

"That wasn't very smart, MacLeod. Still, it doesn't sound like it mattered. Ryan is following his instructions. Take him to the van."

They didn't bother to untie his feet-just dragged him along. Soon he felt fresh air on his face, then he was thrown forward again. This time he hit hard-the carpet he landed on didn't soften the blow much. He was dragged along the rough fabric, then he heard the van doors being closed. The engine started up and he felt the van sway as it started up.

It seemed like they had driven for an eternity before he heard a phone ring. The conversation was too low for him to hear. Soon, the van pulled to a stop and he heard doors being opened.

"Well, it seems you were wrong. Ryan did the job for us," the man gloated. "I now have one less business rival."

Duncan's feet were grabbed and he was roughly pulled backward. Once again, he found himself being half-carried. They dumped him on the ground, then flipped him onto his stomach. He felt the handcuffs being released but, before he could take action, something came crashing down on his head, sending him spiraling into darkness.

Some time later, Duncan woke up. When he opened his eyes, he could see the street lights and realized that the blindfold had been removed. A quick check proved that he wasn't restrained in any way. He slowly climbed to his feet, still nursing a slight headache. Looking around, he discovered he was in the alley behind the dojo. Moving quicker, he went inside and headed straight for the phone.

There was no answer at Richie's place-not that he expected any. He slumped down into a chair and buried his face in his hands. What was he going to do about this?

A moment later he jumped to his feet. He turned on the television set to a local channel to see if there was any news, then took a quick shower. As he was dressing, he heard the nightly news start up. It didn't take long for them to get to the story he was interested in.

"In the top news for this evening, authorities have confirmed a shooting at the Seacouver Museum of Fine Arts where a dedication ceremony for a new piece of art was being held. Authorities are withholding the name of the victim, pending notification of relatives. Stay tuned for further developments. In other news..."

Duncan switched off the television. How could Richie do it? He tried the young Immortal's phone again. Still no answer. The Highlander decided to go down to the dojo. There was more room to pace down there.

And pace he did. There were so many thoughts running around inside his head. He couldn't decide how to handle this. Duncan understood why he'd done it-that wasn't the problem. The problem was that Richie had crossed the line this time. He'd killed a mortal. He couldn't even argue that the man had deserved to die like Annie Devlin's husband.

Duncan couldn't decide what to do. After all, Richie was his friend and his student. But the Highlander couldn't turn his back on his own beliefs. He couldn't condone murder-and that's what Richie had done. It didn't matter that the young Immortal was trying to save Duncan by doing it. He was going to have to send Richie away again.

Just then Duncan felt the touch of another Immortal. He turned to face the doors, striving to keep all emotion off his face. A moment later, Richie burst through the doors and came to a skidding halt. A broad grin broke out on the young man's face and he hurried across the dojo floor.

"Mac! You're all right! They let you go!" Richie exclaimed.

Duncan waited until Richie had almost reached him before speaking. "How could you kill him, Richie? He was a *mortal*! Just because you're immortal, it doesn't give you the right to take a mortal's life!"

"But, Mac," Richie started protesting.

Duncan made a chopping motion with his hand. "There's no excuse, Richie. Unless you can tell me that the man you killed was an Immortal." He paused expectantly, silently hoping that was the explanation.

Richie shook his head. "No, he wasn't, but..."

Duncan didn't want to listen to any of Richie's excuses. The young man didn't even seem the tiniest bit remorseful about killing someone. "I thought I'd taught you better." He shook his head slowly. "I understand how difficult a position you were in, but you should have let them kill me."

"But your Quickening would have been lost-just like Darius'," Richie protested. "You said that was the worst thing that could happen to an Immortal."

"It doesn't matter. I've lived more than four lifetimes-the man you killed should have had the chance to live one. And this time, you can't even tell me he deserved to die. He wasn't trying to assassinate anyone-he was attending a party! A party to honor Tessa, no less. How do you think she would have felt about you doing that?"

"I think she would have been happy that you were still alive," Richie retorted.

Duncan glared at him for a moment. Richie just didn't seem to understand. "I suggest you get out of here. The police will be looking for you now. They'll come here eventually."

"Can I change my clothes first?" Richie asked sarcastically. "Riding a motorcycle while wearing a tux will draw attention."

Duncan stood back and waved Richie toward the elevator, before turning and going into the dojo office. It didn't take long before the young Immortal came back downstairs wearing his jeans, t-shirt, and leather jacket. He looked towards the office, but Duncan turned away. He had to fight the urge to go out and take the young Immortal in his arms and hug him. But if he did that, the next thing he'd find himself doing was helping Richie hide from the law.

Richie had to understand that being immortal didn't put him above the law. A moment later, the young Immortal was gone.

Duncan wondered if he would ever see him again.

* HL * HL *

Duncan lost track of time as he stared out at the empty dojo. Guilt slowly ate away at him, and he had to fight the urge to call Richie. He could have helped his friend in getting new papers and finding a new place to live-make sure Richie got a good start on his new life.

He couldn't stop himself from thinking about the last few years-of the good times that he and Richie had shared together. They had had their share of problems, misunderstandings and arguments. Until now, they had been able to move past them. Somehow, Duncan didn't think they would get past this one.

A figure appeared at the other end of the dojo, jerking Duncan back from his memories. He watched as Joe Dawson crossed the wooden floor to the office. For a brief moment, Duncan thought about leaving-he really didn't want company right now-but he stayed where he was.

Joe stopped in the open doorway. "Well, MacLeod, we finally caught the bastard," he said.

Shock ran through Duncan as he wondered if Joe was referring to Richie. "Caught who?" he managed to ask.

"Roger Mason-the Watcher that set this whole thing up. It's not the first time he's used Immortals as his own personal assassins. We've known something was going on, but didn't know who was involved. It was always the same thing. A young Immortal suddenly kills someone for no apparent reason. Well, thanks to Richie, we have the Watcher and enough proof to have him face a tribunal."

"You knew about this?" Duncan asked, anger filling his voice as he slowly climbed to his feet. "You let Richie kill someone just so you could catch a Watcher?"

A startled look crossed Joe's face. "Where is Richie anyway? Hasn't he told you what happened? His Watcher said he made it back here."

"Richie didn't say a thing about helping you catch this Watcher. And he's gone-I had to send him away, Joe. I didn't have any choice. He's got to learn that he can't run around killing people indiscriminately. Hopefully, he's on his way out of town. The police have got to be looking for him."

Joe shook his head. "I don't believe this, MacLeod. The police won't be looking for Richie! He didn't kill anyone!"

Duncan's stomach plunged down around his feet. He couldn't believe his ears. "But the news reports... And the guy who took me... They said Richie had killed someone."

"It was all a setup, MacLeod. Richie contacted me this afternoon to see if I knew where you had been taken. We don't watch you 24 hours a day, so I didn't have a clue. Together, we worked out a plan. Winston Evers agreed to play along with us. He was wearing a bulletproof vest. I had an ambulance crew standing by, as well as several people at the museum to make sure no one else realized that Evers wasn't dead. It worked like a charm. When you were brought back here, I had several Watchers waiting with cameras to catch Mason in the act. I don't understand why Richie didn't tell you the truth."

Guilt flooded through Duncan. "I never gave him a chance." He strode across the office and past Joe without saying another word.

"Where are you going?" Joe asked.

"To find Richie," Duncan called back over his shoulder.

* HL * HL *

Richie angrily yanked at the buttons on his shirt as the dojo elevator slowly rose to the loft. This was not how he'd expected their reunion to go. Sure, he knew Duncan would be upset, but the Highlander hadn't given him a chance to explain.

The elevator came to a stop and Richie jerked up the gate, moving into the loft as he peeled off his jacket. He practically ripped the shirt off, not caring when it tore. He dropped the ruined shirt on the floor. Let Duncan explain it to the rental shop. The shoes went flying as he kicked them off, and the pants were sent in another direction once he'd stepped out of them.

A few moments later, clad in his own clothes, Richie headed for the elevator again. As he turned to close the gate, he paused for a moment, looking at the loft. This might be the last time he'd ever see it and the thought made his stomach do flip-flops. Pulling himself together, he closed the gate and started the slow journey down.

It gave him time to cool off. By the time he'd reached the dojo, he'd decided to make one last try at explaining. He exited the elevator and looked toward the office. When Duncan turned away, Richie almost gasped from the pain. This was worse than after Mako. At least then the Scot had talked to him-even if Duncan had refused to look directly at him. His teacher had turned away then, too.

Well, this time, Richie knew he'd done the right thing. If Duncan wasn't interested in listening to explanations, then so be it. The Scot would learn the truth, sooner or later. Joe would see to that. But by that time, it would be too late-Richie would be long gone.

He would be fine on his own. Richie kept telling himself that as he strode across the dojo floor, down the stairs, and climbed onto his bike.

He was still trying to convince himself when he parked his bike outside his apartment. He slowly climbed the stairs to his apartment, unlocked the door, and let himself in. He looked around his place. He'd only lived here for a short time-since he and Duncan had gotten back from France-but it seemed like home. He would miss it.

Richie went to the closet and pulled out his big duffel bag. Time to start packing.

* HL * HL *

Duncan drove across town towards Richie's apartment. He alternated between kicking himself for how he'd treated the young Immortal and anger at Richie for not trying harder to tell him the truth. His biggest concern was that Richie would run away before he got a chance to apologize.

It seemed his worst fear was going to come true as Duncan strode down the hallway to Richie's door. There was no touch of another Immortal-not even when he stood directly in front of the door. He'd been inside Richie's place; it wasn't that big. If Richie was still home, Duncan would have been able to sense him by now.

With a deep sigh of regret, Duncan turned away and slowly walked back to his car.

* HL * HL *

Richie was halfway through packing when a thought occurred to him. Why did he have to leave? This was his home and his town. In fact, he'd lived here longer than Duncan had. Besides, this town was big enough for both of them. They'd managed to not run into each other for years until Richie had tried to break into Duncan's store.

This could work. There was no reason for him to go running from this town like a puppy with his tail tucked between his legs. If Duncan didn't like it, he could move away. Richie wasn't going anywhere.

That decided, Richie left the half-packed bag, grabbed his jacket and headed back out. He'd buzz over to Joe's place and find out if he'd managed to catch the bastard who'd started this whole thing.

Richie parked his bike near the door to Joe's place. He strode up to the door and tried it. It opened easily under his hand and he peeked inside. He spotted Joe behind the bar, so Richie went in.

"Hey, Joe," he called out as he walked across the room. "It's looking good. When are you going to open for business?"

"Soon, Richie. I'm kind of surprised to see you here. From what MacLeod told me, I figured you'd be on your way out of town by now."

Richie felt heat creep slowly through his face. "I thought about it for a while, but I decided this was my home, too. I'm not going to let Mac drive me out of town."

"Well, good for you, Richie. MacLeod's looking for you, by the way. He knows everything that happened."

Richie shrugged and sat down on one of the bar stools. "Doesn't matter. He had no reason to tear into me like that. He never even gave me a chance to explain!"

"And how hard did you try to explain?" Joe asked.

"Well..." Richie looked down at the bar and idly ran a finger along the edge. "He just made me so mad..."

"I'm sure he did," Joe replied. "But look at it from his side. You know how he is about Immortals killing mortals. When he thought you'd done that, he probably felt like he failed you."

"Failed me? I don't understand, Joe."

"He was your teacher, Richie. He felt responsible for you and your actions-and for teaching you right from wrong when it comes to immortality. Personally, I think he did a pretty good job with you."

Richie felt his face grow warm again. "Thanks, Joe," he mumbled.

"Anyway, when it looked like you'd killed someone, MacLeod was bound to take it personally. That's probably why he was so harsh with you."

Richie mulled over Joe's words for a while. He knew Duncan didn't handle failure very well. And the Scot always seemed to take responsibility for everything. "He still should have let me explain," he protested.

"You're right, he should have. And you should have tried harder to explain," Joe responded.

"Who's side are you on, Joe? First you stand up for me, then you stand up for Mac."

"I'm not on any side, Richie. I'm a Watcher-remember? We don't interfere. We just watch and record."

"If you don't interfere, then why did you help me? You could have just turned your back on the whole thing."

"Today wasn't about two Immortals. It was about a group of rogue Watchers who were interfering. I wanted to stop them and, with your help, we have."

"So you caught the bastards?"

"Yes, we did. They won't try this little stunt again."

"Good," Richie replied. "But what am I going to do about Mac? He keeps treating me like a kid!"

"Give him time, Richie. After all, to him, you're still a youngster. He's going to have a hard time realizing that you've grown up."

"Yeah," Richie replied morosely. "How long do you think it's going to take?"

"Oh, no more than a decade or two," Joe replied, grinning widely.

"Gee, thanks, Joe. That makes me feel so much better," Richie snapped back. "Knowing my luck, it will take him a century or two to realize it."

Joe laughed. "Maybe. But it will happen. I've seen the change in you. Give MacLeod some time, and he'll see it, too."

"Yeah, if I live long enough."

"Well, you might try going over and talking to him. Running away isn't going to prove you've grown up."

"Right, Joe." Richie stood up, then felt the presence of another Immortal. "I may not have far to go," he said as he checked to make sure he had his sword.

The door to the bar opened and Duncan came in. His face changed from a stony mask into a relieved smile. "Richie, you're still here."

"Where else would I be?" Richie quipped. "I live here, remember? I didn't have any reason to take off-I didn't do anything wrong."

"You're right," Duncan replied. "You didn't do anything wrong and I shouldn't have assumed that you did."

"No, you shouldn't have," Richie replied, a bit angrily. He was going to let Duncan stew for a few minutes. He deserved it.

"I know, Richie... I... I don't know what to say." He sent a beseeching look towards Joe.

"Don't look at me," Joe replied. "I'm just watching. I'm not going to interfere."

Duncan glared at Joe for a moment before turning back to Richie. "I... I'm sorry, Richie. I should have trusted you enough to let you explain."

"Yes, you should have," Richie replied, moving to stand directly in front of Duncan. "I have only one thing to say to you..."

Duncan looked like he was bracing for a blow. "What?"

Richie grinned impishly before throwing his arms around Duncan. "I'm glad you're all right!"

Duncan stood still for a moment before returning the hug. "Thanks to you and Joe."

"Yeah, and you just remember that," Richie retorted as he pulled back.

Duncan laughed and reached out to ruffle the young Immortal's hair. "I'm sure you'll keep reminding me."

"You can count on that." Richie grinned at Duncan, then turned more serious. "I was really worried about you, you know?"

"Yeah, I can imagine," Duncan replied. "I'm sorry you had to go through all of that because of me."

"It wasn't because of you. They were just using you to get me to do their dirty work."

"Thank you for not letting them use me. And, if this should ever happen again, I don't want you to ever give in."

"That goes both ways, Mac. Someone could try to use me to get you to do something, too."

"Agreed," Duncan replied, firmly shaking Richie's hand to seal the bargain. "Now, how about we go get something to eat?"

"Sounds good to me." Richie looked back at Joe. "Want to come along, Joe?"

"No, you two go on by yourselves." The Watcher waved them toward the door. Just before they reached it, Joe called Richie back.

"I'll wait in the car," Duncan said.

"What is it, Joe?" Richie asked as he walked back across the room.

"I've just got one question, Richie. What would you have done if I hadn't helped you? Would you have killed Evers to save MacLeod's life?"

Richie stared intently at Joe for a moment. "I don't know, Joe. I just don't know. See you later, Joe." The young Immortal turned and walked away.

The end.

Author's note: A long time ago, I wrote a story called Voices. In it, I promised Richie a story where he could save Duncan. It took me a while to write, but he's finally got his story. g


End file.
